Turning Point
by Yorick
Summary: What I'd like to see happen with Wes and Fred when season 4 ends--NO SPOILERS, I promise--I just wrote it assuming good triumphed over evil and everyone lived. :)


DISCLAIMER:  In the beginning, all was darkness. Then, there was Joss. Joss said, "Let there be light," and there was light. And the light was good.  I humbly thank Joss for His glorious creations, which are His and His alone. It is my most fervent hope that by daring to use His characters in my own meager offering, some of His genius might find its way into my fumbling scribbles.

TURNING POINT

"The important thing in science is not so much to obtain new facts as to discover new ways of thinking about them." –Sir William Bragg

After climbing what seemed like one too many flights of stairs, Fred stepped onto the roof of Wesley's apartment building. Closing the door behind her, she took a moment to get her bearings, letting her eyesight adjust to the fading afternoon light. Finding the side that overlooked the front door, she started forward, only to stop as her brain translated a large group of shadows already at the roof's edge into something more recognizable. Hesitantly, she called out, "Wesley?"  

He turned his head to look in her direction, bringing his face into the light. His expression was unreadable. "Fred." She gave him a small smile. He returned his gaze to the horizon and asked, "How did you manage to find me?" His voice was neutral, as if he were merely curious, betraying neither pleasure nor annoyance that she was here.

Trying for a casual air, as if Wesley was a horse she was afraid of spooking, she walked across the rooftop to within a few feet of where he stood. She leaned forward, resting her arms on the top of the waist-high wall that encircled the rooftop, and looked out upon the city. "Well, there was no answer when I knocked on your door, but I knew I'd seen your car down on the street. So I figured I'd try the roof."

"Thinking you'd find me here."

She caught his eye and gave him a sheepish grin. "Thinking it'd give me the best view of the neighborhood. I was hoping I'd spot you walking down a street somewhere."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Ah."

They lapsed into silence for a few minutes.  "So...what are you doing up here?"

He shrugged. "Just thinking. Everything we've been through, what we've learned--it's a lot to process."

Fred nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Sometimes it almost seems unreal, you know? Like it happened to someone else." With a small, rueful laugh she added, "I'm not sure I'd have minded if it had, actually." 

He shot her a sidelong look, amusement in his eyes. "Let someone else field an apocalypse for a change?"

"Exactly." She smiled up at him. Their gazes caught and held, and Fred felt her smile fade even as her heartbeat, irrationally, accelerated. Confused, she broke off her stare and stared down at her hands. 

"Did you need me for something?"

She looked up at him quizzically. 

He raised an eyebrow. "You said you were trying to find me," he said, with a trace of aspersion.

Flustered, Fred replied, "Oh, no. I mean, yes, I was trying to find you. But not because something's happened."

"What then?"

She took a deep breath as she straightened, turning to face him. "Well, you've been awfully quiet ever since things got back to normal around here. I just...wanted to make sure you were okay."

He stared at her for a long moment, then shifted his gaze away. His voice was remote as he told her, "I'm fine, Fred. Like I said, it's just a lot to assimilate. That's all."

Growing angry at the implied dismissal in his tone, she said, "Don't lie to me Wesley. Not after everything we've all been through."

She saw a flicker of fire in his eyes and realized that she'd finally gotten his emotional barrier to crack, if only a little. He snapped, "What exactly do you want from me?"

"I want you to be honest with me," she retorted. "I want you to talk to someone--anyone--about whatever it is that's bothering you. Because right now you're acting a whole lot like you did--"

"When I took Connor," he finished for her. She nodded. Coolly, he said, "I'm surprised you even noticed."

Incredulous, she replied, "Of course I noticed, Wesley. We finally defeat Jasmine, keep the world from ending yet again, and..."

"No. I'm surprised you noticed what I was like then."

"Oh," she said weakly, inwardly shrinking a little. She paused a long moment, collecting her thoughts. "I didn't survive all that time in Pylea without being able to see things, Wesley." He looked at her, his expression a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. She continued, "Even if it didn't seem like I was looking, or do anything about it at the time, I still saw. And I'm a scientist too, you know. We detect similarities, recognize relationships between seemingly unrelated objects, look at evidence and find common denominators.  And the pattern I'm seeing now, in you...I don't want that particular bit of history to repeat itself any time soon." He turned away, but she pressed on. "So please, talk to me. Maybe I can help you with whatever it is that's troubling you."

She could see the tension in his shoulders, the tightness of his posture, when he replied, "I... appreciate what you're trying to do, Fred. But it's nothing you need concern yourself with. Really."

Fred sensed she was close to getting through his reserve. Taking a small step toward him, she gently said, "I think I can be the judge of that."

He shot her a cold, level gaze, and said, "I don't."

Fred felt like she'd been slapped. Her hands fisted into tight balls as she forced herself to neither turn and walk away nor spit out the "fuck you" that popped to mind. Because she knew if she did, he'd just retreat further into this hard, cold shell he'd created for himself. Instead she closed her eyes, took a breath, and said, "You can be as rude as you want, Wesley. But I'm not leaving until you talk to me."

A pained expression flitted across Wesley's features, replaced quickly by his now-common stoic facade. He nodded. "That was rude of me. I'm sorry."

She shrugged and shook her head. "'S all right."

"No. It's not." He held her gaze for a long moment, then turned to look back over the city once more. She waited, uncertain as to whether she should keep pushing him or if she should just leave it for now and try again in a day or two. But before she could decide, he quietly said, "I was thinking of going back to England."

Fred's stomach dropped. A wave of panic washed over her, threatened to drown her. Her blood roared in her ears. Not even bothering to try and hide her dismay, she managed to stammer out, "Why?"

"Why?" he repeated. "I should think it'd be obvious, Fred. Especially if you do see patterns as well as you claim."

Still upset, surprised by both his words and her own reaction to them, she told him, "Well, this one you're gonna have to break down for me, Wesley, because I don't get it at all."

"It's simple, really." An undercurrent of anger and self-loathing began creeping into his voice. "I seem to have a knack for destroying the very things I care about most." She opened her mouth to protest, but Wesley held up a hand to forestall her. "Let's look at the data, shall we? I at long last become a Watcher, and not only miss the signs that my Slayer was troubled but then drive her further into darkness through my own rash and ill-conceived actions. I take over Angel Investigations, try and turn it into a real force for good, only to undo it all by believing the wrong prophecy and kidnapping my friend's infant son. I suggest we bring back Angelus, which nearly causes Angel to be lost forever. I ask Faith to break out of prison and become a fugitive, then almost kill her in the attempt to save Angel. I make a move on you, a woman involved with my former best friend, only to turn on you when you first told me about Jasmine. Oh, and let's not forget--that's twice I've lacked the strength to overcome a spell inciting me to kill you. Shall I go on?"

Fred stared at him in utter disbelief. She whispered, "You can't... you don't really see yourself that way, do you?"

He laughed once, bitterly. "That much egotism, that much self-pity... it's really quite astonishing, isn't it? Or perhaps it's merely pathetic." Fred shook her head, but Wesley either didn't see or chose to ignore her response, sounding almost light-hearted as he continued, "Still, it's hard to imagine even the most casual observer could look back on recent years and not notice the long line of mistakes trailing in my wake."

Getting angry again, she said, "So what? You think you're the only one who's ever made a mistake?"

"No. I'm just tired of people I care about paying the price for mine."

She took another deep breath in through her nose, not wanting to let him bait her. Surprising herself with how calm she sounded, she told him, "Stop it."

"Stop what? Being honest?" he asked, making the final word close to a sneer. "As I recall, it was your idea."

Meeting his derision with some of her own, she said, "That isn't honesty. It's self-flagellation." 

"You don't think I'm aware of that?" he said. "But it doesn't mean--" Wesley stopped abruptly. He closed his eyes for a long moment, his shoulders sagging slightly. Then, in a softer tone, sounding defeated, he continued, "It doesn't mean there's not an element of truth at work either. The fact remains--"

Fred grabbed his upper arms, turning him to face her. "The fact remains that you're a good man, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. No matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise. We've all screwed up somewhere along the line, or done something we wished with all our heart we could take back."

He hung his head, refusing to make eye contact, and murmured, "But I keep failing everyone, Fred." He glanced up at her quickly, his eyes full of sorrow, then back down. "I keep failing you. And I'm not sure how many more times I could bear that."

She brought her hands up to grasp his face, trying to force him to look at her. "Don't you get it? I don't care that you couldn't break Jasmine's spell. No one could've, not without help. That's not what you should take away from what happened." At that he did look up, the question in his eyes. She stared at him intently, willing him to listen, and quietly said, "What matters is that when I needed help, I turned to you." He closed his eyes and shook his head. She tightened her grip, causing him to look up once more. She repeated, "I turned to you." Then she leaned forward and, lightly, briefly, kissed him on the lips.

She'd meant the kiss as a gesture of comfort, a demonstration of her affection and regard for him. So Fred was unprepared for that moment of contact, over almost as quickly as it began, to go through her like an electrical jolt. When he'd kissed that day, in the office, she'd written off her reaction to nerves and frayed emotions. But now, with her breath stopped short and her own words to him, unanticipated and unrehearsed, sinking in, there was no way she could keep refuting what she now knew was the truth of her own heart. The patterns of their interactions, their conversations--they all came down to one simple fact: she was in love with this man. 

She opened her eyes and gazed at him, hoping he would do the same and see what she was feeling. For a heart-stopping moment, as his hands came up slowly to touch her forearms, she thought he would. But instead he grasped her wrists and took a step back, creating a slight distance between them. He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself, and released her arms. Then he finally did look at her, his face blank. "Thank you," he said, almost formally, "for coming to find me. And for what you've said." Then his features hardened. "But the last thing I want or need right now is your pity."

If she hadn't been watching for it Fred might not have noticed the flicker of longing that surfaced briefly in his expression even as he tried to push her away. But she did, and it made her heart ache. She held his eyes with her own and stated, "I'm sorry Wesley. You're right-- you don't need my pity." He nodded and dropped his gaze to the ground. She continued, matter-of-factly, "So if that's what you felt when I kissed you, then I guess I'll just have to try again." And with that she stepped forward, laced her hands through his hair, and brought their mouths together once more. She kissed him with everything she had, everything she was, trying to tell him without words that he could believe in this, believe in her. Tenderness, hunger, need, passion--even as Fred recognized and admitted each long-denied feeling, she tried to channel it into her lips, her breath. 

For what seemed like an impossibly long time Wesley stood still as stone, causing Fred a moment of dismayed panic. But then his hands came up to rest on her hips, and he began to tentatively respond to her kiss. Encouraged, she let her arms curl around his neck, stretching her body along the length of his. She felt his hands slip around to press against her back, pulling her into him as he finally started kissing her back, his intensity and desire more than matching her own. And then she was lost, aware of nothing save a vague amazement that she could feel so complete when she hadn't known anything was missing. 

When at last they broke apart they were both breathing hard. Wesley leaned forward to rest his forehead against her own, and for a few minutes they just stood there, Fred relishing his nearness and warmth. When she trusted her voice to work again, she smiled and asked him, "Well? Was that one any better?"

Wesley said nothing in return, simply opening his eyes and fixing her with a grave stare. She felt her throat go bone-dry.  His voice deep and serious, he began, "Actually, Fred..."

Steeling herself, it took all Fred's strength not to look away.

Then his face changed, a subtle touch of humor coming into his eyes. In mock-consternation, he said, "...I'm not sure." Relief flooded her nerve endings as he continued, his expression a model of regret and concern. "You may have to try again."

The corner of her mouth curled up in a smile. "You think so, huh?"

Wesley nodded somberly. "I'm afraid there may be no way around it."  He pulled back slightly, as if struck with an inspiration, and she felt a thrill upon realizing that a light long-absent from his eyes was there once more. "Say, maybe we should go down to my apartment and you can try it there. Perhaps if you're more comfortable, more at ease..."

"...I could finally get it right?" He nodded again. She shrugged. "I suppose it's worth a shot." She grabbed his hand and started leading him toward the stairs.

From behind her, she heard him sigh, "The sacrifices I'm required to make, all in the name of science..."

Fred threw back over her shoulder, "You know how I like to be thorough."

Wesley murmured, "Indeed," his tone sending a shiver through her body. Fred squeezed his hand, knowing the question of his leaving was a moot point now. It may have taken a while to get there, but now they were both exactly where they were supposed to be. 


End file.
